


a day in redthorne

by tsurai



Series: Redthorne 'verse [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9513308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurai/pseuds/tsurai
Summary: Orsino is comfortable with his life as it is now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so @mikkeneko on tumblr mentioned on an art post about Orsino deserving a better ending than he got, which the lovely @littlexabyss then sent to me. thus I was inspired to write that better ending.
> 
> spoilers for unpublished parts of the [redthorne ‘verse](http://tsuraiwrites.tumblr.com/tagged/redthorne-%27verse).

A knock sounds at the door, and without looking up from the letter he’s writing, Orsino calls, “Come in!” Sunlight brighter than the magelight hovering above his head spills across his desk.

“Um, Enchanter Orsino?” a young voice asks, obviously hesitant to interrupt. He blinks, looking up to see Brigit poking her head through the door.

“Come in, Brigit. Are you finished with your duties at the infirmary already?” The apprentice blushes at the question, twisting her hands shyly in the fabric of her trousers.

“Yes, serah Alain said I could go early. Uh, Keeper Merrill said to tell you the Nevarran convoy is in.” Orsino’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Really? They’re a day early. Very well, thank you. Go tell our illustrious leaders, if they don’t know already, would you?”

Brigit sketches a short bow, then takes off without even bothering to shut the door. Her eagerness makes him laugh as he stands, tugging down his trousers where they’ve ridden up. He dons a light coat more out of formality than a need for it in the mild weather, but leaves his staff where it leans against the doorway. It’s been a long time since he’s needed it within the walls of the free mage settlement.

He steps out of his cabin into sunlight and a light breeze that carries the scent of fresh bread to his nose. In the distance a hammer sounds, no doubt the forge turning out more nails and other metal fixtures needed for building another house or storage shed or even a storefront in their always-growing town. He turns to make for the gates and nearly trips over a small pack of children playing in the dirt. As he watches, a young girl picks up a handful of grit and calls water to it, her palm instantly filling with mud that she slings at a boy who shrieks and moves to do the same. Another girl, elven and already covered in muck, calls a bright, showy flame to her hands as if to blind them.

“Children!” he barks. It startles them enough that everyone loses grasp on their mana, magic flickering out. “No playing with fire. Sahri, if I catch you again you’ll be pulling weeds in the herb garden for a week, understand?”

The girl scuffs a toe against the dirt but doesn’t look particularly repentant. “Yes, serah. Sorry, serah.”

Orsino barely refrains from rolling his eyes but waves them off. “Go then, have fun somewhere you  _ won’t  _ get mud on my cabin.  Otherwise you will be cleaning it.” They scatter without another word, running down the street as one of them starts laughing at Sahri for getting caught.  Wistful happiness builds in his chest to see them so untroubled, so free in their magic. He turns the opposite direction, making his way through newly-cobblestoned streets that wind erratically through houses and out into an open square near the front gate.

The gate is a unique thing; not a door but a wall made of massive briars, several feet thick and towering to wrap around the massive trees that make up either side of the stone wall surrounding the town. And just inside stands a circle of yellow-painted wagons, the traders already parked and unloading their goods even as several mages come forward to greet familiar faces.

“Orsino!” his name is bellowed across the square. He turns, already smiling. A woman with thick leather armor beckons to him as Merrill bounces on her heels beside her. The woman’s dark, craggy face breaks into a grin as he nears.

“Welcome to Redthorne, Miriam. I trust you had a safe journey?”

She responds with a snort, her thick accent making her sound even more droll when she replies, “Safe enough. Got the goods here all right, and a few orders for some things the Mortalitasi at court want – runes and such? But no business yet, kid, c’mere and give me a hug.” Well used to the trader’s overenthusiasm, he submits to her embrace as she slaps his back before finally releasing him. “Now, how’re things holding up here? Those lynx cats of your leader’s killed anyone yet?”

“No, they’re sticking to birds and rabbits, thank the Maker. Though I believe Anders means to train them as guards for the kitchens. Apparently someone’s developed a camouflage spell good enough to get past the main kitchen’s cook and has been stealing sweets,” he replies with a smirk. Merrill giggles behind her hand. If they both happen to know that said person is, in fact, one of Hawke’s apprentices, neither will tell Anders for a while yet.

“Hmm, don’t think that’s going to work. Damned if I can get my cat to do anything like that. She just lays in the back of the wagon all day. Doesn’t even twitch if a mouse climbs over her to start eating the sack grain, useless shit.”

Orsino blinks in alarm. “I hope you didn’t lose too much of your shipment?”

“No, no. One of the Dalish clans – what one’d you have staying with you last time I was by?”

“Well, it was early spring, so that would be Clan Ghilain,” Merrill pipes up. “Clan Lavellan was by shortly after that and they’re still here.”

Miriam nods. “Yeah, them. One of them volunteered to ward some of my wagons against vermin and thieves in exchange for some  _ basbousa  _ cakes I had on hand. Cat’s gotten even lazier since. Sweet young thing, she was very curious about Nevarran magic. I felt a little bad I don’t know more – you know how the Mortalitasi keep their secrets. Anyway, we’re good on all the deliveries. Where’s your leader and his armored shadow? I’ve got another buy-in trade agreement from Nessum that needs to be hashed out.”

“That’s good to hear,” Orsino says, then sighs. If Hawke and Anders still aren’t here even after Brigit was sent to fetch them, that means they must be… _ busy _ and it would be unwise to go barging into their space.

The last time this happened Orsino complained to Justice, but the spirit had only smirked at him and replied, “I have been made aware of the benefits of…taking a break.”

Orsino tries to think of a tactful way to say they were probably not ...available. Merrill has no such compunctions, it seemed. “Oh, I don’t think they’re coming. Hawke told me not to drop in today because he’s planning on ‘marathon sex’ and Justice wants to try a new-” she’s cut off by Orsino raising his hand in a warding gesture.

“Yes, thank you, but I really don’t need to hear about that!” he says quickly.

Miriam laughs. “Oh, well that’s understandable. Speaking of sex and sweet things,” she turns a mischievous gaze on Orsino. “Your Keeper here told me you have a new beau. Where are they? I want to meet anyone who’s gonna be distracting you from spending all your time perusing my wares.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Orsino feels a blush build, burning from the tips of his ears down to his cheeks. He throws an accusatory look at Merrill, who only grins at him with an innocence he knows by now is mostly feigned.

“He’s on patrol outside the walls for the moment and won’t be back for several hours, I’m afraid,” he mutters, not meeting Miriam’s gaze.

The older woman huffs. “Well then. No man to vet, no leaders to serve as eye-candy? I suppose I’m just going to have to settle preliminary negotiations with Redthorne’s seneschal, as usual.”

“What? But you and I are the ones…” Orsino trails off on seeing the woman’s smirk. “I’m not a seneschal.”

“You take care of the Lord’s business, handle all the trade and politics and internal affairs here. What else would anyone call you?” Miriam rolls her eyes.

Orsino can’t fight a small grimace. She has a point, but… “Anders isn’t a Lord, either.”

“Bah,” Miriam waves a dismissive hand. “It’s all the same thing. Now, do you wanna talk trade, or can I go get drunk in your pub until tomorrow when we have the others?”

Despite himself, Orsino smiles. He looks from her to Merrill, past them where the traders are already mingling with the peoples of Redthorne. It’s almost impossible to pick the mages out from the rest – barely anyone bothers with robes anymore other than special occasions, and everyone looks happy, at ease beneath the slowly-falling summer sun.

He hums, turning back to Miriam and Merrill. “How about I join you instead? We can talk while we drink.”

“Sounds fantastic!” the woman crows, latching onto him and Merrill and setting to drag them across the square. 

 


End file.
